


it's not passing fascination now

by ExultedShores



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, seriously so much fluff, what even is angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2019-11-15 11:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExultedShores/pseuds/ExultedShores
Summary: A collection of tumblr prompt fills. Mostly Daud/Thomas, but with sprinkles of other pairings from time to time.





	1. "Who cares about what they think?" (Daud/Thomas)

**Author's Note:**

> Just to make sure tumblr doesn't eat my prompt fills in the inevitable next purge, I've decided to collect them here for safekeeping.
> 
> If anyone would like to send me a prompt, I've been taking requests from [this list](https://exultedshores.tumblr.com/post/183128262791/angstfluff-prompt-list), but feel free to hit me with any prompt you like and I'll see what I can do! Fair warning though, if you don't specify a pairing, chances are 99% certain I'll write Daud/Thomas, so if you'd like a different pairing please include it in the ask.
> 
> So far, every drabble is Daud/Thomas with the exception of #6, which is Corvo/Jessamine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst/fluff Prompt #53: "Who cares about what they think?"

Thomas wakes, as he always does, at the crack of dawn.

The day’s first rays of sunshine filter through the holes in the ceiling of the Commerce Building, and Thomas allows himself ten seconds. Ten seconds to drink in the stunning sight of Daud’s sleeping face, relaxed in a way it never is when he’s awake. Ten seconds to marvel at the fact that this is the first sight he gets to see in the morning, that he’s allowed the privilege of watching the infamous Knife of Dunwall drool onto his pillow. Ten seconds of bliss.

Ten seconds, and then he has to get up, needs to return to the cold, impersonal little bedroom deep in the bowels of the building. The other Whalers cannot know their Master is sharing his bed with his second-in-command. It would only serve to further decay the bond of trust between Daud and his men, already so fragile since Billie betrayed them. Thomas knows how much Daud cares about the Whalers, how devastated he would be if it all came crashing down around him. He doesn’t want their newfound relationship to be the ruin of their house.

Thomas gently disentangles himself from Daud’s hold, careful not to wake him. He needs all the sleep he can get, the nightmares that plague him since he murdered Empress Jessamine Kaldwin making restful slumber a rarity. They’ve become less frequent since Thomas began sharing his bed, but there are still nights Thomas is awoken by Daud thrashing, or mumbling, or, on one particularly bad morning, weeping. The deep, peaceful sleep Daud’s in now isn’t nearly as common as Thomas would like it to be.

He’s barely left the bed when a hand closes around his wrist. “Stay.”

Daud’s voice is laden with sleep, but also with sincerity, and Thomas’ heart races. “I can’t,” he murmurs, reasonably. “The others –”

“To the Void with the others,” Daud grumbles, tugging at Thomas’ wrist. “Come back to bed.”

Thomas wishes he could say he isn’t tempted. “They might think we’re…” _Having sex_ , he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to. There’s no other conclusion they could come to, if they were to find Thomas in Daud’s bed. Never mind the fact that all they’ve ever done is sleep, because Daud and sex go together like whale oil and floodwater.

Daud scoffs, the effect undermined by the way his head is still half-buried in the pillow. “Who cares about what they think?” he grunts, but he does let Thomas go, granting him leave if he so desires. “If this is what makes them leave, after the Voiddamned few months we’ve had, then they can go and fuck off.”

And that’s – a strangely compelling argument. “Are you sure?”

“Oh for Void’s sake, Thomas, lie down.”

He lies down, and Daud curls into him again immediately, like a cat seeking out warmth. He’s back to sleep within seconds, and Thomas smiles.

Daud was right. Let the others think what they like.

Thomas is exactly where he wants to be.


	2. "Why are you crying?" (Daud/Thomas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst/fluff Prompt #48: "Why are you crying?"

The vineyard is everything they ever dreamed of.

With the thousands upon thousands of coins he painstakingly saved over the years, Daud has purchased them a fine piece of land, with fertile soil and a mansion to live in, all underneath the hot Serkonan sun. They couldn’t be further from Dunwall, both physically and mentally, and it is absolutely wonderful. This is exactly where the Whalers belong.

Even after nearly a year of living in paradise, Thomas still has days when he wakes up disoriented by the heat, and the soft mattress at his back, and, most startlingly, another person in his bed. That, he thinks, is something he’ll never get used to. Even if twenty years were to pass, the fact that he gets to awaken to the sight of Daud in his arms will always be nothing short of astonishing.

The others like to tease him about ‘shacking up’ with the boss, but Thomas knows they’re happy for him, and for Daud. There is no competition here, every Whaler simply taking on whatever tasks they’re best suited for. Away from the confines of the hierarchy of novices and masters, no one resents him for having fallen hopelessly in love with their leader.

If anything, the other Whalers gleefully abuse his relationship with Daud, sending him to deal with the boss whenever he’s in a less than amicable mood.

Like today.

Daud was already gone by the time Thomas woke, which is a rare occurrence, and the few Whalers who’ve seen him that morning all reported the same thing: The boss is brooding. It’s no wonder Fergus asked Thomas to fetch Daud for lunch.

He finds Daud exactly where he expected him to be, sitting atop the hill that grants a spectacular view of the grounds. From up here, Thomas can see the town in the distance to the west, the ocean to the east. It’s a quiet, calm spot, secluded from everything else, and Thomas knows Daud likes to come here to think.

“Daud?”

Usually, Daud can hear Thomas coming from a mile away, but today Daud starts at the sound of his voice. He quickly wipes at his eyes, but not before Thomas sees the glistening on his cheeks. “Thomas,” he returns, his voice rough. “What is it?”

“Fergus wanted me to…” Thomas begins, but he trails off, the sight of Daud’s uncharacteristic display of vulnerability rattling him. “Daud, why are you crying?”

Daud looks as though he wants to deny Thomas’ claim altogether, but then fresh tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and he sighs, a weary, heartbreaking exhale. “It’s been a year,” he murmurs, looking at the shimmering ocean, “since Billie’s betrayal.”

Only then does Thomas realise Daud is tightly holding on to a wristbow, the same small, quick-loading model that Billie left behind on his desk the day she was banished from their old base in the Flooded District. She took her mask and her blade, but the wristbow was an item she received the day Daud promoted her to second-in-command, a symbol of her new, elevated status. Her leaving it behind was a gesture of deference, and clearly, Daud has held onto it all this time.

Thomas sits down next to Daud, folding his hands in his lap. “Do you think she’s out there somewhere?” he asks, nodding at the water. “She always did want to be a ship captain.”

“I hope so,” Daud breathes. “I hope she’s happy.”

“Like the rest of us,” Thomas supplies, because that is the honest truth. Daud already gave the Whalers more than most of them ever thought they’d have back in Dunwall, supplying them with a roof over their heads, and a full belly every day, and a steady source of income, and a set of invaluable survival skills, not to mention a sense of belonging, a sense of _family_. And this vineyard, here in Serkonos, is beyond their wildest dreams. Daud has done well by them.

Daud looks at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “Are you happy, Thomas?”

“Yes,” Thomas says immediately, firmly, because he is. He can still vividly recall his childhood, locked in an abusive noble household with no way out, until Daud barged into his life with orders to kill him, but granting him an escape instead. He spent years with the Whalers, and he was content, the safety and the family and Daud making the life of assassination and subterfuge more than bearable. But this – this sunny home, this place for them to retire, away from prying eyes, is all he could have ever wanted. _Daud_ is all he could have ever wanted. “I am.”

He takes Daud’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and Daud leans into him, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder.

And that’s how they stay, until long after Daud’s breath has evened and the concept of lunch is no more than a memory.


	3. Serkonan summertime (Daud/Thomas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freestyle prompt: 'Serkonan Summer Nights' and "Today! Today I will-! ... oh who am I kidding, I won't.." (not necessarily verbatim)

Serkonos seemed like such a good idea at first. Paradise, the southernmost Isle is called, a warm, sunny paradise. The perfect place to spend one’s retirement. When Daud suggested Cullero, none of the Whalers objected.

But by the Void, they should have.

The Whalers, nearly all of them Gristolian by birth, cannot handle the heat very well. In the midst of Serkonan summer, when the sun is at its peak, shedding whatever clothing is acceptable and curling up in a patch of shade is all they can do not to melt.

The only one who doesn’t seem to be affected by the heat is Daud.

He’s out in the fields, watering the crops. Sweat pours down his tanned back in rivulets, his shirt long foregone, his well-defined muscles glistening in the bright sun. Daud wouldn’t be caught dead shirtless back in Dunwall, always wearing high collars and layers upon layers, grumbling about the Voidforsaken cold. But here, he has little choice. Not even Daud can tend to the crops in full regalia, no matter how resistant he seems to be to the heat.

There’s a reason Thomas likes to sit on the porch overlooking the fields.

Thomas himself is covered up from head to toe; his thin, loose-fitting clothing stick to his skin with sweat, and the sunhat on his head is itchy and uncomfortable. But then there’s little else he can do. His skin, overly pale from generations of inbreeding between the Gristolian nobility, reddens and blisters after mere minutes in the unforgiving Serkonan sunshine. After his second heatstroke, Daud found him a sunhat and forbade him to ever leave the house without it.

Thomas obeyed, of course, because the sunhat does help. And if it has the added benefit of hiding the furious blush reddening his cheeks as he watches Daud work, well, who is he to complain?

Daud returns to the house after an hour, like clockwork, to wash off the sweat and to drink enough not to dehydrate in the murderous heat. Another reason Thomas likes to sit on the porch is the fact that the water pump is positioned right next to it, and he is anything but averse to watching Daud pour a bucketful of cold water over his head.

Daud pushes his sodden hair out of his face. “Still reading?” he asks Thomas, nodding at the open book in Thomas’ lap that he hasn’t so much as glanced at since coming out here.

“Not much else to do,” Thomas responds, because he doesn’t think ‘no, I’ve been ogling you’ is an acceptable answer. “Too hot.”

Daud snorts, sitting next to him to drink down a bottle of water before he goes back to work. A horrible thing, absolutely dreadful, because he is close, far too close, and Thomas can’t duck his head down fast enough to avoid Daud seeing his bright red face.

He can feel Daud’s eyes on him. “Are you… blushing?”

Yes, obviously. “No,” Thomas lies through his teeth, though he can’t quite make himself look Daud in the eye. “I, uh, went out without my hat yesterday. It’s sunburn.”

“You should know better,” Daud chastises, and Thomas can practically hear the frown. “You need to take care of yourself, Thomas. I don’t want to lose you to heatstroke.”

And that would be enough to make Thomas blush, if he wasn’t already. Void, does Daud have any idea what effect he has on Thomas? How much Thomas just wants to pull him in and kiss him until he has no oxygen left?

He doesn’t, obviously. He’s utterly oblivious. And Thomas can hardly stand it any longer.

Maybe today is the day. Maybe today is the day he’ll tell Daud he loves him.

“Daud,” he begins, determined, but then Daud looks at him, his head tilted back as he gulps down the water, and Thomas falters at the sight of his exposed throat, the way it bobs as he swallows.

Oh, who is he even kidding? He won’t confess a damn thing to Daud today, or tomorrow, or ever. Chances are Daud doesn’t want him, not like that, and losing Daud’s trust and respect is something he can’t risk, not even for this.

“Never mind.”

Thomas looks back down at his book, not reading a word but grateful for the way his hat obscures his face. He can’t quite seem to manage keeping the crestfallen expression off it.

Next to him, Daud chuckles, and then there’s a finger underneath his chin, imploring him to look up. With his other hand, Daud tips up the rim of his hat, exposing Thomas and all his treacherous feelings for all the world to see, and then –

And then Daud is kissing him.

And Thomas – Thomas can only hold on for dear life, his fingers digging into Daud’s uncovered forearm, feeling the lean muscle shift underneath his touch. Void, but it’s too much, Daud’s chapped lips on his own, Daud’s thumb caressing his cheek, Daud’s hand tangling into his hair. Daud is everywhere, invading his mind, his senses, his very being, and Thomas lets him, drowns in him, _loves_ him.

When Daud pulls away, his face is as scarlet as Thomas’. “Was that what you were trying to say?”

Thomas lets himself fall backwards, lying flat on his back. “I’m going to die of heatstroke.”

Daud just grins.


	4. “I fell in love with you, not them.” (Daud/Thomas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst/fluff prompt #99: “I fell in love with you, not them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something to note: the version of Thomas featured in this drabble was inspired by [BID](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BID/pseuds/BID/)'s upcoming Daud/Thomas fic featuring courtesan!Thomas and a whole lot of awesome. Keep an eye out for it!

Running jobs with Daud has long since lost its novelty.

Daud takes him along more often than not, because he enjoys Thomas’ company, and his insights. Thomas isn’t a killer, will never take a life for the mere promise of coin, but he has no qualms helping Daud and the Whalers attain their goals. Once Daud has decided on a target, they won’t live. Whether or not Thomas helps him complete his contracts more quickly is of little consequence in the long run.

Besides, he always prefers being close to Daud. This is the man who saved him from his life as a courtesan at the Golden Cat, the man who kept him on despite his refusal to kill, the man who, when Thomas stammered his way through a clumsy confession of love, kissed him and murmured “About time” into his hair.

The contract today is right up Thomas’ alley: killing a noblewoman in the middle of a party. He’s been dressed in the latest fashion of the nobility, his curly hair jelled and slid back. He looks as though he belongs, even if he is the last person to ever be invited to a noble’s soiree. Well, as a guest, that is. He imagines he’d do rather well as the entertainment.

Daud stays up in the rafters as Thomas pushes through the crowds and tries to avoid small-talk without seeming impolite. He can’t linger; the risk of discovery is too great. Chances are he’ll say something to make the aristocracy realise he’s not one of them, or worse, have one of the nobles recognise him from his days as a courtesan. Thomas used to be quite popular among the upper class, and though it’s been years since he vanished from the brothel, he’d rather not risk it.

Thomas finds their target laughing with a group of other women, and he positions himself in a nearby corner, untouched drink in hand, to wait for an opportunity.

It comes when she disentangles herself from her friends to visit the powder room, and Thomas steps into her path blindly.

She crashes into him, spilling his drink all over the floor (that, of course, he calculated. It wouldn’t do to ruin his clothes, or hers).

Thomas puts a hand on her arm to steady her. “Oh my, are you quite alright?”

She giggles, clearly already intoxicated, and lays her hand atop his. “Better than alright, I’d say. Do forgive me, Lord…?”

“Carmine,” Thomas lies effortlessly. He doesn’t even have a last name, not that he knows of, but the Carmines are blond and fine-featured, much like himself. “And the fault was all mine, Lady Estermont. Please, allow me to make it up to you.”

“A gentleman,” she purrs, already looping her arm around his. “Did you have something in mind?”

Indeed he does. “Well, they do say Lord Perth keeps a stunning garden. Perhaps a stroll would do us some good.”

His suggestion is anything but subtle. Lord Perth doesn’t just keep a garden; he keeps a maze, carefully grown and trimmed hedges positioned in an intricate pattern. It has a great many dead ends, little alcoves in which a pair of lovers could hide away.

Or in which a pair of lovers could hide a corpse.

Thomas leads Lady Estermont through the maze, knowing Daud is following them discreetly. She chatters the entire way, clinging to his arm, and Thomas nods and smiles and pretends to find her troubles with the import of her favourite delicacy to be positively fascinating. If there’s anything he’s learned at the Golden Cat, it’s how to suck up to the aristocracy.

When he halts her in a suitably dark part of the maze, she immediately drops all pretence, wrapping her arms around his neck and firmly pressing her lips to his.

The woman is yanked away from him moments later, her neck sliced open by Daud’s blade before she can even think to scream.

“Let’s go,” Daud barks at him, and he vanishes from the scene of the crime immediately.

Thomas follows, wondering if Daud perceived anyone nearby to warrant such a hasty retreat, but Daud doesn’t give him the chance to ask, transversing so quickly he is but a flicker on the rooftops of the Estate District. It’s a challenge to even keep up with him, but Thomas has taken to the Arcane Bond like none other before him, and he manages.

Eventually, even Daud is forced to halt, to let his magical energy recharge, and Thomas grabs his arm to keep him from resuming the rigorous pace. “Hold on,” he pants, magical exhaustion gripping at him. “You’re going too fast.”

Daud snorts, the sound derisive in a way Thomas has never heard from him before, but he does stay put, allowing Thomas to catch his breath.

“What happened back there?” Thomas dares to ask when Daud lights up a cigarette, seeming content to stay on this particular roof for a while. “Did you hear someone coming? I didn’t think –”

“No,” Daud cuts him off, not looking at him. “I had to go. Reign in my temper.”

“Your temper?” Thomas questions. He knows Daud has a mean temper when it’s roused, but he’s not easily provoked. Sure, he gets snippy from time to time, is prone to mood swings, but Thomas has only ever seen Daud truly angry on a handful of occasions.

And this is one of them, if the deep-set frown on his face is any indication. “She kissed you,” Daud growls, his grey eyes particularly menacing in the glow of his cigarette. “She had no right.”

Thomas stares at him. “I took her out there,” he points out. “Of course that’s what she was going to think.”

Daud merely huffs, crossing his arms and turning away.

“I’ve done this before,” Thomas reminds him. “Void, you’ve asked me to do this before. I don’t understand –”

“That,” Daud snaps, “was before you and I…”

Got together.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“Daud,” Thomas murmurs, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think… I didn’t think you’d care.”

“For Void’s sake Thomas, of course I’d _care_ ,” Daud grumbles. He can’t quite seem to look Thomas in the eye. “Voiddamned nobles, always taking what they don’t fucking deserve.”

Thomas wraps an arm around Daud’s waist. “I fell in love with _you_ ,” he states, firmly, “not them. Not any of them.”

“It’s not like they’re setting a high standard,” Daud mutters, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

“Even if they did, they still wouldn’t hold a candle to you.”

The kiss they share is slow, a soft and unhurried display of affection that holds the promise of more, the guarantee of always. Thomas has kissed a lot of different people in his line of work, but those weren’t anything like this. There was no care, no longing, no love. Nothing like what he’s feeling now, being held tightly, a hand cradling his face as though he could break under the slightest pressure.

No one has ever cared for him like this before, loved him like this, and Thomas can still hardly believe he ever got this lucky.

Perhaps it wasn’t luck. Perhaps it was just fate.


	5. Serkonan summertime 2 (Daud/Thomas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The humble pleadings of a smitten reader: Serkonan Summer Days Daud POV?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a companion piece to chapter 3, the same story but written from Daud's point of view!

Serkonos was an excellent idea.

Daud flourishes in the climate of his native Isle, so unlike the miserable, rainy hellhole that is the capital of the Empire; it’s like sinking into a nice hot bath after nearly three decades of being chilled to the very bone. The heat is invigorating, and Daud finds himself outside more often than not, tilling soil or cultivating grapes or even just sitting, soaking up the warmth he’s been denied for far too long.

Unfortunately, he seems to be the exception rather than the rule.

Most of the men who chose to follow him back in Dunwall have never known anything but the cold clutches of Gristol, and the sudden shift to Serkonos has left most of them unable to function in the sweltering heat of Cullero. Only those with some Serkonan blood in their veins are of any use out on the fields, like Rinaldo and Rulfio. The others have trouble merely staying conscious most of the time.

But the one who has it worst of all is, without a doubt, Thomas. With his fair skin and light hair, the briefest time in the sun is enough to do him in; he suffered two heatstrokes within a month of their arrival, despite being more careful than most. Daud made sure to pick him up a proper sunhat when he went to town next. Thomas has been wearing it dutifully, no doubt because Daud ordered him to, and so far, it’s worked. He hasn’t passed out from the heat again, at least.

It’s just a pity the damn hat obscures his face almost completely.

Daud likes looking at Thomas’ face. Not just because it’s pretty – though no one can deny that – but also because it’s expressive in the most subtle way. Over the years, Daud has learned how to read it, has learned that his lips thin when he is amused, and that his nose twitches when he’s annoyed, and that he has a way of smiling so very benignly no one would ever guess he’s positively seething inside. Most recently, Daud deduced that his eyes crinkle when he’s regarding something he loves.

They crinkle when he reads his favourite book. They crinkle when Rulfio makes his tea just the way he likes it. They crinkle when one of the Whalers comes to him for help, trusting his role as second-in-command. And, without fail, they crinkle when he looks at Daud.

Back in Dunwall, he wouldn’t have known what to do with that information. But out here, there’s no hierarchy, no reason for Daud to place himself above his men to keep from being stabbed in the back. Out here, he can make good on his promise to let the past stay in the past, to be a better man, to allow himself some happiness.

So he’s taken to working the fields without wearing a shirt, even if it causes sweat to run down his back in rivulets, even if he has to return to the house more often than he usually would just to clean himself up. Though, then again – there’s some merit in having to dump a bucketful of cold water over his head every hour or so.

Like the glazed-over look in Thomas’ crinkled eyes as he tries his best to pretend he isn’t staring at Daud.

“Still reading?” Daud inquires with a nod at the book in Thomas’ lap, knowing full well he hasn’t turned the page even once since he sat down on the porch.

Thomas shrugs nonchalantly enough. “Not much else to do. Too hot.”

Daud snorts as he fills up a bottle with cold water; Thomas is a good liar, he has to concede. But his eyes betray him – and so does the rest of his face, bright red from his neck to the roots of his blond hair.

He sits next to Thomas on the porch, and Thomas immediately ducks his head, no doubt to hide his furious blush. Daud can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, nor can he help the faux-innocent question that leaves them. “Are you… blushing?”

“No,” Thomas denies, his voice calm but his reaction far too quick to be casual. “I, uh, went outside without my hat yesterday. It’s sunburn.”

As if Thomas would ever be so careless. “You should know better,” Daud chastises, because he should indeed know better than to lie to Daud. “You need to take care of yourself, Thomas. I don’t want to lose you to heatstroke.”

Thomas is quiet, his head bowed, his hands clutched tightly around the spine of his book, and Daud – well, shit, Daud has no idea what he’s doing, really. He can’t recall ever flirting with anyone before. He can’t recall ever _wanting_ to flirt with anyone before. Oh Void, what if he’s misread this situation horribly?

He drinks deeply from his bottle of water, if only to squash down the increasingly overwhelming urge to just take Thomas’ stupid pretty face in his hands and kiss him breathless.

“Daud,” Thomas calls, and when Daud turns to look at him, there is a look of fierce determination in his eyes that has Daud swallowing thickly – but just as quickly as it came, it’s gone, and Thomas’ head dips back down, his hat obscuring his face. “Never mind.”

Yet Daud knows exactly what Thomas was going to tell him, and he cannot contain the laughter that bubbles up his throat, coming out as a low, almost giddy chuckle.

He’s waited long enough.

In a single fluid motion, he hooks a finger underneath Thomas’ chin and flicks up the sunhat with his other hand, revealing a pair of wide brown eyes filled with shock and fear and uncertainty, but also with hope, and anticipation, and _love_ , and Daud couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

Instead, he leans in.

And Daud – Daud hasn’t kissed many people in his life, has no idea how to tilt his head or move his lips, but it doesn’t matter, _it doesn’t matter_ , because this is _Thomas_. It’s Thomas’ lips on his own, Thomas’ hand clutching his forearm, Thomas’ very being invading his senses. Daud holds him like he’s the most precious thing in the world, because he is, _he is_ , and Daud doesn’t ever want to let him go again.

He pulls away only when his lungs scream for air, and he knows his face must be as red as Thomas’. “Was that what you were trying to say?”

Thomas just lets himself fall back onto the porch, sprawled out with his arms covering his eyes. “I’m going to die of heatstroke.”

And Daud can only grin.

Surely there are worse ways to go.


	6. "You're the only one I wanna wake up next to." (Corvo/Jessamine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst/fluff prompt #100: "You're the only one I wanna wake up next to".

Corvo Attano isn’t a man who’s easily caught off guard.

It’s happened but a handful of times in his life. When he awoke to find his mother crying over a letter his sister wrote, announcing she had left them to explore the Isles. When Theodanis Abele approached him with the idea of sending him off to Dunwall as a diplomatic gift to the Emperor. When the Emperor’s precocious daughter, all but twelve years of age, declared he would serve as her Royal Protector, an honour unheard of for anyone hailing from Serkonos.

And since then, it’s always been her, always been Jessamine who could make him feel anything but surefooted. She never ceases to surprise him, with her grace and her beauty and her kindness, with her clever mind and even cleverer fingers, with her fearlessness and her determination and her cunning. Corvo never quite knows what to expect from her, is amazed by her every single day, and he doesn’t think he could ever love someone more.

A small, stupid part of him believed there was nothing that could ever have surprised him more than the day Jessamine came to his chambers and propositioned him, nineteen and oh so sure of herself, and Void, so, so beautiful.

He was wrong.

“Corvo, I’m pregnant.”

She looks radiant when she tells him, smiling wider than he’s ever seen her smile before, one hand on her still flat stomach, the other tightly grasping his own. And Corvo – Corvo can only stare at her, eyes wide, mouth agape, because surely, _surely_ , this is nothing but an exceptionally kind dream.

Except it isn’t. Somehow, this is real; somehow, he’s managed to make the Empress of the Isles fall in love with him; somehow, they’re going to have a _child_ together.

He doesn’t quite realise he’s crying until Jessamine’s hand is on his cheek, wiping the tears away, and then he pulls her close, holds her as though he never means to let her go again, his head buried in the crook of her neck, staining her collar with his tears.

They’re going to have a child together.

Nine months from now, there’s going to be a baby – a baby they _made_ , the two of them, a life they created with their love. Void, but Corvo hopes their child will look like Jessamine, that they’ll have her hazel eyes, her raven hair, her crooked smile, her –

And then it hits him.

There’s a chance the child might look nothing like Jessamine at all. There’s a chance their baby will look just like _him_.

And it will be a scandal of untold proportion.

“Jess,” he whispers hoarsely, feeling as though his bubble has just violently been burst, “Jess, what are you going to tell Parliament?”

Jessamine smiles that mischievous smile he loves so much. “I was thinking of not telling them anything. Wait and see how long it takes before someone gathers up enough courage to ask me if I’m expecting or if I’ve just been eating too many tartlets.”

The huff of laughter comes out unbidden. “Jess.”

She sighs. “You mean to ask what I’m going to tell Parliament about the identity of my child’s father.”

Corvo nods. “You can’t tell them it’s me,” he mutters, even though he wishes he could scream it from the rooftops. “They’ll call for a vote of no confidence.”

“I know,” Jessamine agrees, and he can see his pain reflected in her eyes. Keeping their love a secret from the world can be so tiring. “But I don’t owe them any explanation. I am the Empress, and this child is mine. That’s all they need to know.”

“They won’t just let it lie, Jess,” Corvo points out, not unreasonably so. Parliament is like a tank full of sharks, and even a single drop of blood in the water is enough to make them snap their jaws. “Maybe you should think about finding a consort.”

The mere thought of seeing Jessamine with another man makes his heart ache. But if it means a better future for their child, if it means less grief from Parliament, he’ll gladly set aside his own discontent, if only it would make Jessamine happy.

Jessamine snorts a decidedly unladylike sound. “I am not giving my hand in marriage to someone I do not love,” she declares, vehemently. “I will not let Parliament decide my life for me, or my child’s life. _Our_ child’s life.”

“Jess –”

“No,” she cuts him off. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, Corvo, I truly am. I’m sorry we have to keep us a secret. I’m sorry we can’t go out and hold hands and – and get married, like other people do. But you are the only one I want to wake up next to for the rest of my life, and I won’t let them take that from us. We’ve given them enough.”

What started as a passionate rant dissolves quickly into a broken statement, and Corvo holds her as she sheds her tears, silently. “Alright,” he murmurs into her hair. “We’ll make it work. We always do.”

“We always do.”


	7. "All I wanted was for you to be happy." (Daud/Thomas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst/fluff prompt #38: "All I wanted was for you to be happy."

The cabin doesn’t look like much.

In fact, it’s a stretch to even call it a cabin – _shack_ seems like a more appropriate term; the little abode is made of haphazardly stacked wooden logs, with a crooked roof that very much looks as though it could collapse at any moment underneath the weight of the snow piled atop it. It doesn’t look in the least inhabitable.

And yet it is, light visible through a small crack in the curtains, smoke seeping from the chimney. Clearly, someone has made their home here, in the heart of the Tyvian tundra. Someone who isn’t too fond of people. Someone who wishes to be left alone. Someone who’s running from something.

Void, but Thomas hopes that it’s _his_ someone.

He’s been searching for _years_. Once it became clear that Daud had left them, once it became clear that he was never coming back, the Whalers swiftly fell apart. Perhaps Thomas let them. He could have led the gang for a while longer, could have continued the business without Daud and his otherworldly abilities, but he just didn’t want to. He didn’t join the Whalers because of bloodlust, didn’t stick around for the coin, didn’t accept the position of second-in-command for power, didn’t share their leader’s bed for any other reason than love. Everything he’s done, since the day they met, has been for Daud, and only for Daud.

And Daud – Daud left him behind.

And Thomas just wants to know _why_.

His search has taken him all across the Empire, from Serkonos to Morley and now finally to Tyvia. He spent entirely too much time combing through Serkonos, certain Daud would have wanted to return to his native Isle; by the time he found out Daud had gone to Caulkenny after leaving Dunwall, he’d long since moved on, tired of being around people. The trail led him to Tyvia, up north, past Pradym to a village so remote even its inhabitants have long since forgotten its name – and then further still, into the tundra itself, where they say a bearded hermit with a scar running the length of his face has made his home.

And now here he is, at the very northern end of the Empire. He’s tired, hungry, and Void, so, so cold, wrapped in six layers of clothes yet still frozen to the bone. But even as the wind howls around him, even as the sun sets, even though he knows he won’t be able to make the trip back to the village without freezing to death, even now that he’s _so close_ , Thomas hesitates.

Because as much as he wants – as much as he _needs_ answers, he can’t help but be terrified of those answers at the same time.

But then nothing could be worse than this awful limbo of uncertainty.

With a shaking fist – from the cold, he lies to himself – Thomas knocks on the door.

It swings open almost immediately, and any doubts Thomas might have had about the hermit’s identity fly out the window as he looks into those sharp grey eyes he knows so well, not to mention the distinctive scar, and the very way he holds himself. The thick beard and the unassuming woollen sweater are new, but they do nothing to conceal Daud’s identity. Not from Thomas, at least.

Daud has one hand on the dagger at his hip. “Who are you?”

The mere sound of Daud’s voice after all these years is enough to make Thomas shiver – it’s the cold, he lies to himself again – and he hastens to pull down the balaclava covering the lower half of his face, to push up the goggles protecting his eyes from the wind. “Master Daud,” he murmurs, the old familiar address rolling off his tongue as easily as it did a decade ago.

“Thomas,” Daud breathes in turn. “What are you doing here?”

He already cannot feel his face anymore. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Daud stares at him for a long moment. “In,” he orders only when Thomas’ teeth begin to chatter, and Thomas obeys all too gladly, ducking inside the little cabin with a muttered word of gratitude.

Inside it’s blissfully warm, a strong fire burning in the hearth, and Thomas lets it wash over him, allows himself just a brief respite in which he thinks of nothing but getting some movement back into his frozen limbs, pointedly not letting his mind wander to the man whose space he’s currently invading.

But he knows he can’t avoid the issue forever. Thomas turns away from the fire, looks back at the man he’s been chasing for years now. Daud stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, as though he is the one who doesn’t belong in this setting. He, too, seems to be interested in looking everywhere but at the other person in the room.

Thomas wets his lips, chapped from the cold. “You’re not an easy man to find.”

“That’s by design,” Daud says curtly, and Thomas flinches despite himself.

“I can go,” he offers, his voice mercifully even, “if you’d rather.”

If Daud sends him away, he’ll have all the answers he came here for.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll freeze to death before you make it halfway back to the village,” Daud snaps at him. He breathes deeply as he looks into the flames dancing merrily in the hearth. “And it’s… good to see you, Thomas.”

The simple sentiment floods him with more warmth than the fire ever could. “It’s good to see you too, sir.”

Daud looks as though he wants to say a million different things – and he doesn’t say any of them. Instead, he reaches for a small brass cauldron on the shelf just above the hearth. “Tea?”

If he weren’t so tense, Thomas might have laughed at the sheer mundanity of the question. “Please,” he says, because whatever else, a warm drink sounds like an unprecedented treat after his merciless daylong trek through the Tyvian tundra.

Daud nods, walks to the door, and disappears outside. He returns not half a minute later with his cauldron filled with snow, and he hangs the pot above the fire. “It’ll take a while.”

It’s not as though Thomas has any pressing engagements. “That’s alright.”

The silence that follows is so uncomfortable it’s almost oppressive. Thomas isn’t sure what he expected, should have known they wouldn’t just fall back into the easy camaraderie, the relationship of trust and love they used to have, but this – this is _unbearable_.

“Master Daud –” he begins, at the exact same time Daud says, “Thomas –”

Thomas ducks his head to hide a smile, and Daud huffs a laugh himself. “You don’t have to call me ‘Master’ anymore, you know.”

“Sorry, sir. Old habit.”

Daud finally looks him in the eye. “Why are you here, Thomas?”

“I told you, sir. I’ve been looking for you.”

“ _Why_?”

Thomas swallows thickly. “You left,” he says, his voice coming out hoarser than he would like. “You vanished into thin air. If you hadn’t taken your things we would have thought you dead.”

“I promised Attano I’d leave the city,” Daud mutters. “I had to go.”

“You could have told us,” Thomas tries not to sound accusatory. “You could have told _me_.”

Daud turns away from him, focuses instead on the row of hand carved wooden owls sitting on a shelf above his bed. “I couldn’t.”

“I was your second in command. I was –” _so much more than that_ , he doesn’t say. “You could have told me.”

Daud shakes his head. “You would have wanted to come with me.”

“And you didn’t want that?”

“No.”

The word is like a stab in the chest. “I see,” he whispers. The words are barely audible over the crackling of the fire, yet his voice still sounds too loud. “You could have told me _that_ , then.”

They wouldn’t have had to have this conversation. He wouldn’t have spent the last few years chasing down every lead on Daud’s whereabouts. He could have gone – well, he doesn’t know where he would have gone, what he would have done. But at least he would have been _free_.

“If I’d told you,” Daud rasps, still looking at those infernal owls, “I wouldn’t have been able to leave you behind.”

Thomas can’t have heard that right. “What?”

Daud sighs, a long, weary exhale. “I’m the most wanted man in the Empire,” he says, the old familiar tone of regret woven into his every syllable. “Staying with me would have meant always being on the run, never being able to stay in one place too long, never making a home. I didn’t want that for you. I didn’t want you to throw away your life for me.”

“I wouldn’t have a life to throw away if it weren’t for you,” Thomas reminds him. “My life has always been yours.”

“Your life is your own, Thomas.”

Thomas doesn’t even realise he’s balled his hands into fists. “Then why did you take it away when you left?” His own voice rings in his ears. “Why didn’t you give me a _choice_?”

“I didn’t want you to regret that choice,” Daud murmurs. “All I wanted was for you to be happy.”

The laugh leaves his mouth unbidden, mirthless, derisive. “No,” he spits. “You were just afraid. You were afraid of what would happen if you allowed me to come with you, just like you were afraid of what would happen if you’d settled down somewhere in Serkonos rather than this frozen misery. You were afraid _you_ would be happy.”

Daud recoils as though he’s been struck. “That’s not –” he begins, heatedly, but then he falters, staring at Thomas with a heartrendingly haunted look in his eyes. “I… I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve killed so many people. What _right_ do I have to be happy?”

He sounds utterly broken, and Thomas’ lips curl into a snarl. “What right do you have to be _miserable_?” he counters. “Do you think Attano let you live so you could waste it like this? So you could _punish_ yourself?”

“It’s not punishment,” Daud denies, but weakly, as though he doesn’t even believe his own words.

Thomas snorts. “For Void’s sake, Daud, you hate the cold even more than you hate the Outsider. This place is a self-imposed prison if I’ve ever seen one.”

The ghost of a smile tugs at Daud’s lips. “I really hate it when you’re right.”

“You must have loathed me back in Dunwall, then,” Thomas drawls.

“No. I loved you back in Dunwall,” Daud confesses, his voice as soft as the look in his eyes. “And I still do.”

Thomas blinks rapidly at the tears clouding his vision. “Voiddammit, Daud,” he curses vehemently, “did you really think I could ever have been happy without you?”

Daud opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again – then lets out a choked growl in the back of his throat and crosses the small room in two strides, pulling Thomas into a tight, desperate embrace.

And finally, Thomas is _home_.

Daud pulls back just far enough to look at him. “Stay with me.”

Thomas smiles. “No.”

“No?” Daud repeats, his eyes wide.

“No,” Thomas confirms. “I’m going to make my way back to Serkonos in the morning. The cold doesn’t agree with me.”

Daud’s expression is unreadable. “I see.”

Thomas’ smile widens into a grin. “You’re welcome to join me, though.”

Daud releases a shuddering exhale, a sigh filled with relief. “Yes,” he breathes. “Of course.”

His promise doesn’t erase the last few years, doesn’t magically rebuild the trust he shattered when he vanished without a word – but it fills Thomas with more hope than he’s felt in a long time.

And that might just be enough.


End file.
